Counting Seconds
by Rach L
Summary: Logan on the roof, thinking non-thoughts. A tag to Prodigy.


You know, with all these ideas floating inside me, and the phenomenal speed I can actually write them down, I almost wish the exam period wouldn't end. Almost.  
  
***  
Title: Counting Seconds  
Author: Rach L.  
Feedback: appreciated!  
Rate: PG  
Category: A vignette. A tag to Prodigy. M/L. (What else?)  
Spoiler: Prodigy.  
Summary: Logan on the roof, thinking non-thoughts.  
Disclaimer: If I say they're mine, are you gonna believe me? Didn't think so.  
Note: I know this has been done many times already, and done pretty well, but I couldn't resist. *sigh*  
  
Gratefully dedicated to Sandra, the only one who can inspire me to write by just being herself. ;)  
***  
  
  
I've considered myself to be pretty lucky.  
  
Mostly because whenever there's a bad thing happening to me, I realize it could've been much *worse*. The list of my lucks starts from the very beginning when I ended up inheriting a load of money when my parents died. That shouldn't constitute as 'lucky', some people might think. But no, I'm lucky compared to many others who lived hard lives, cold and starving. I went through my childhood without begging and scavenging on the streets. That, I consider lucky. Very lucky. I've been playing one of the most hated cyber-journalists of the country for a few years without getting caught. Statistically wise, that's very lucky too. Was married to an alcoholic who ended up divorcing me herself, so I didn't have to clean up her mess every night. That's what I call luck. I should've died when the man named Bruno shot me, very much intending to kill me. I didn't. I just ended up in a wheelchair.  
  
Bad things happen and there's nothing you can do about it. You only focus on the bright side of things. That's what I've learned.  
  
So, I'm trying to focus on the bright side right at this point.  
  
Let see, I'm afraid of heights. And like the most people, I'm not so keen on dying.  
  
And now I'm on the roof of a *very* high building, with two muscular goons who are ready to push me off anytime they wish standing right behind me.  
  
So...what did I think of my luck again?  
  
This wasn't exactly what I had planned when I persuaded the terrorist to let the women and children go, although I envisioned myself ending up in a similar situation--I didn't have faith in that military man to keep his gun in the holster for that long. That was the risk I was going to take. The scene where the doctor went flat on the concrete ground like a squashed bug haunted me and I was determined not to make that scene again with innocent children and women. And Max. Not that I thought Max would end up in this kind of situation--she's too strong for that.  
  
Of course, can't say the same about me.  
  
People say at the last moment of your breath, everything that happened in your life passes you by like panorama pictures. Well, that's a lie. The last coherent thought you remember is--youregonnadieyouregonnadie, or, notyetnotyetnotyetdammitnotyet. Inside, you're trembling with fear and literally scared to death. I had my fair share of moments to look at the Death face to face, so I think I'd know.  
  
But it's a little different this time. I think after my last attempt at getting back the control of the wheelchair was blocked, the frightening numbness has withered. Guess this is the resignation I feel. Except that, I can't really feel anything. I'm not *that* afraid anymore, I guess. Face it like a man, was it?  
  
The perps drag me to stand on the lane so I can actually look down. It's a very long way down. Can't help but stare down at the people and the cars and the streets and the small buildings...all very incredibly small. And my body is acting desperately according to instincts and vainly tries not to lose the balance and fall. How ironically FUNNY is that? Glad I haven't lost my sense of humor at this point. With the help of the goons behind me, I'm going to fall anyway. But my body wants to live a second longer, trying its best to delay the last moment.  
  
Unlike what's going on inside it, the city of Seattle looks very beautiful at night from a distance, especially from this very...*high* position. The lights from the complicated labyrinth of streets brighten up the sky, embroidering the indigo with faint red and gold. Like an aura perhaps. Remember seeing it when I went to Canadian Rockies, with my parents at my side. Remember the snow I saw on a very strange midday; the sun was shining between the bunches of dark clouds, dyeing the clear blue sky with golden rays, but the snowflakes were falling, dancing their intricate dance in silence. The lonely hisses of the wind, and silence.  
  
It was surreal. Thought if there was something called Heaven, or the Elysian Field, or the state of ending circle of Dharma, or...whatever we call it, that place might be it. It was...surreal.  
  
So is this moment.  
  
So, falling.  
  
I wonder how that feels like.  
  
Think I'm gonna find that out very soon.  
  
I close my eyes, feeling the hard shoves, feeling myself losing the momentum. I don't think I want the rough bottom of concrete street to be the last thing I see.  
  
There is no scream nor a panicked shout from my mouth, strange enough. I just...fall. At least I think I'm falling, because I can feel the strong wind cutting my skin like a sharp blade. But would it take this long to just fall? What are these thoughts all jumbled in my head? So my brain is yet to be scattered against the hard ground?  
  
I squint my eyes just a little and look up. I see something...  
  
...uh, it can't be. Because she can't be in the building. Nope, can't be.  
  
Subconsciousness, I heard, is capable of just about everything.  
  
But dammit, I'm gonna die. Heck, I might even be dead already, so who cares if I just put out my hand a little for her to hold? A blessed dream it may be, but seeing her and feeling her again are not such a bad prospect.  
  
But...  
  
I know this hand that holds mine.  
  
I know this hand better than mine, actually.  
  
I know these lean, delicate fingers that wrap around my hand with such an intense grip.  
  
And I know this hand that will not let me go.  
  
The strong, overwhelming scent of cherry. The texture of her flowing dark hair. The soft fabric of her suit. Her hands on mine....touch. My senses overload.  
  
There're noises--loud gun shots, shattering glasses, and the thick, heavy thud.  
  
And the next moment, I'm lying on a bed.  
  
With her at my side.  
  
If there's been any doubt that this was just a dream, it's confirmed now--yep, it's a dream.  
  
But what the heck. Dream or not, I have to ask:  
  
"You okay?" "You all right?"  
  
Huh. I'm used to having dreams where the components do *not* talk back, so this is a new stuff.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she says, not really noticing the confusion going on my part.  
  
"I was gonna ask you the same question." Is that my voice? I think so. But why on earth does it have to sound so absolutely calm, just the opposite of how I feel? "I went through a lot of trouble to get you released."  
  
She looks at me with her mouth slightly open. She seems incredulous, and obviously annoyed. And dream or not, she looks out of this world.  
  
"What were you thinking, exchanging yourself for us?!?!"  
  
...Okay, and I'm *definitely* not used to a dream where the component of it actually *smacks* me back.  
  
Ow.  
  
So it's a good time to think that this might *not* be a dream?  
  
She looks mad, and her eyes are the mixture of fury, anger, and...uh, is that...gratitude?  
  
"You should be thanking me," another calm voice that sounds like mine says. Interesting.  
  
"Thanking you?!" She wildly gestures in incredulity, in a way only she could.   
  
And since I don't think I'm under the death threat anymore, my mouth just has to say what it wants to say.  
  
"You'd be trapped in the room with the morons if it wasn't for me!" "You'd've been thrown off the roof it it wasn't for me!!"  
  
I'm not reading her mind, so guess I better wonder if Manticore kids are also equipped with telepathy.  
  
In which case, I'm in big trouble.  
  
"Never mind." "Forget it."  
  
She's standing up. Doesn't seem to notice that she has that rope tied to her waist though. For some reason, that rope fascinates me. Where did she get it? I wonder what happens if I just pull it...  
  
...which turns out to be a bad idea. Her face is an inch away from mine, and I could feel her breath on me. The sweet scent of cherry flavor intoxicates me. (Side note: Max loves cherries. Maybe I can use this info for the next feeding session? Cherry pie? Cherry Jubilee? Ice cream Sundae with chocolate syrups, nuts, and cherries on top?)  
  
And *now* my brain is doing the panorama picture thing. There are million reasons why I shouldn't just move up a little to taste her delicate lips. And they're all valid reasons too. But well, again, my body doesn't want to listen. Adrenaline up, blood pumping. Instincts. Oh, I hate them.  
  
However, my amazing self-control kicks in just in time, and I swallow.  
  
"...Just go save the kid." "I'll just go save the kid."  
  
She pulls out the rope and gingerly walks out of the room. But not before she checks out her outfit on the mirror. Have to grin at that. Facing terrorists armed with weapons, or falling from the top of a building to save a guy aren't that of a big deal, but ruining her suit seems to be. Can't blame her. That's a very nice suit.  
  
I lay back on the bed again, feeling a little...exhausted. I think I just fell from the roof.   
  
And I survived.   
  
And ended up on a bed with Max.  
  
Once again proven that I'm lucky?  
  
Absolutely.  
  
end  



End file.
